


Grand King Would be a Blessing

by TubularPterodactyl



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Free Verse, Poetry, lots of repetition lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-08 00:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15231135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TubularPterodactyl/pseuds/TubularPterodactyl
Summary: A poem from Oikawa's POV, starting during his middle school years.Yeah, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. I just really love Oikawa and didn't feel like writing actual prose. (I promise, I plan on writing an actual fic. One day.)





	Grand King Would be a Blessing

I’m not a prodigy,  
I’m not a genius -  
I’m just someone who loves the game;  
someone who hates to lose.

So what do I do?  
Practice.  
Practice.  
Practice.  
Play.  
Play.  
Play.  
Play.  
Grow.

I’m not a superhuman,  
I’m not a pillar of strength.  
But I’m not alone.  
I use the talent that I’ve honed  
to help others around me  
surpass their limits.  
The perfect toss,  
the perfect strategy,  
just for them.  
(Okay -  
for me too).

It’s fun.  
We gain victory after victory.  
I’m praised.  
All this work  
has gotten me far.  
I can’t help the way my chest rises,  
expands,  
Nor the warmth that floods through it.

Then _he_ shows up.  
 _The prodigy_.  
Within moments,  
by just _looking once_  
he has caught up to me.  
Any day now,  
I’ll be useless.  
 _He’ll replace me._

So what do I do?  
Practice.  
Practice.  
Practice.  
Practice.  
Practice.  
Practice.  
Practice.  
Practice.  
Practice.   
Practice.  
Grow.   
Grow.  
 _Grow._  
(Please grow.)  
(I want to play.)  
Practice.  
Practice.  
Practice.  
Practice.  
Practice.  
Practice until I drop.  
Practice until volleyballs are strewn everywhere;  
until my sweat soaks through my clothes.  
Practice till my body screams at me to stop  
and then keep going.  
Practice till I drop.  
Practice till my legs give in.  
Practice till I can’t play anymore.

They said I overworked my body.  
They said I worked _too hard_.  
But, really, I haven’t worked hard enough.  
Doctor’s note crumpled in my pocket,  
I step back onto the court.  
The only way I’m leaving is if I’m dragged away  
kicking and screaming,  
every single bone broken.  
I refuse  
 **refuse** to leave.  
 **Refuse** to let all my hard work be for naught.


End file.
